With A Rebel Yell

I would like to ask all my black friends (and yes I have some) and all my other liberal friends to get off their soapbox about the Confederate battle flag.

Granted, this is the new south that is far removed from not only the 1860s but the 1960s as well.

If anyone had any grasp on history or even studied it instead of trying to revise it they might understand where man has come from, made mistakes and improved along the way.

First off, the flag everyone is complaining about isn’t even the flag of the Confederacy. They are two totally different flags and historically significant in their own right, yet separate.

I hate to tell the black population this, but the American Civil War was not fought over their freedom. It had to do with state’s rights – a battle still going on today. There was a major difference between the north and south during the 19th century. The north was more industrialized and because of that more culturally and educationally advanced. There was more money going into more hands compared to the south with their traditional plantation life. The north would infuse money into the resources of the south t produce the industrial goods that sustained the country – everything from tobacco, cotton, crude oil – you name it. Not all of North America was part of this country as we now know it. At the beginning of the Civil War there were 34 states with two being added during the course of the war. Therefore during the war there were at least 12 states out of the continental United States that were still unincorporated – or had no real dog in this war.

I have lived in the south most of my life and to be quite honest I have no feelings at all good or bad towards the flag. I was born over 100 years after the war and the Civil War has no meaning for me. It is a part of history. It does not define my feelings or me. I find humor and often irritation from both sides that try to either rally around the battle flag or scream racism over it. Everyone needs to get over himself or herself and move on. I find southern traditions to be dated and often boring. And as far as the race war that seems to be fanned by members of both sides I really don’t have a dog in either fight myself. My ancestors did not come to the states until the late 1880s from Europe so we had actually no involvement in the “war between the states”. Most of my family is in New York state and city minus a handful such as myself.

I would like my black friends at this time to put their race card back into their wallet or put it through a shredder. I’ve got some news for you. Discrimination in the south goes beyond color of your skin.

When I was a kid my father uprooted my happy family from New York to Lookout Mountain, adjacent to Chattanooga, TN. My father was transferred from his textile company to Dalton, GA where he was made vice president of one of the larger carpet mills.

We lived in the Fairyland community literally a block from Rock City. I grew up around all the “mountain money” as a kid and young adult. We also lived less than two blocks from Fairyland Club. The club had one of the highest diving boards I had ever seen and a ton of beautiful tennis courts. We were the only ones in our neighborhood that were not members, however. When I asked my mother and father why were weren’t members like my friends Eric and Robbie they kind of dismissed my inquiry. They told me I could always go as Eric and Robbie’s guest if I really wanted to go – and was invited. I didn’t know if it was a financial matter or what and over the years I went a handful of times by invitation of friends like Robbie, Eric, Ansley and Skipper. As a young adult and when I first started my own business it was always in the back of my mind that I should join the Fairyland Club to show off my stature and rub shoulders with the other successful member. I even remember looking up membership and recognized some of my old school friends being on the membership board there and thinking to myself I would have no problem getting approved for membership. I never went through with it and since I no longer lived on the mountain it no longer seemed relevant to me. It was out of mind until earlier this year.

As some of you know my mother died in February. I talked to my sister for the first time in years and apparently opened some old wounds I was unaware. My sister is almost ten years older and had a much different impression of our time living on Lookout Mountain and in the Chattanooga area than I did. During the course of our conversation she told me we were denied membership to Fairyland Club. That was news to me. I never thought we had applied and after my parents split I knew my mother couldn’t afford to be a member so I never gave it another thought. My sister told me our family was denied membership to Fairyland Club because my father was told they “don’t allow Jews”. First, I didn’t know we were Jewish. I consider my last name German or German/Jewish at best. Second, it was 1968. The world and the south has changed a whole lot since the 1960s. As a kid I do recall vaguely being picked n because of my last name and even to this day most people can’t pronounce it or spell it correctly – especially in Chattanooga.

As I got into my teens I became a research fanatic. That’s why I enjoy history so much. I spent a lot of time at the public library reading about history, movies, TV – you name it. I also spent a great deal of time on the second floor of the library reading up on the regional history. In my research I found an archive of an old Lookout Mountain magazine that read more or less like a society register. In it were documented marriages many between cousins on the mountain. I found that kind of weird and asked someone about it and they told me they thought the reasoning behind that was so the families that controlled the money would be able to keep it amongst themselves. And like I said, I grew up around every “money” name on Lookout Mountain. I often noticed even as a kid when I would look through my schools annual at how all these people with the same last names looked remarkably like each other. Even at age 10 I thought this was weird but thought nothing of it because it was LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN and I seemingly got along with everyone without issue – at least on the surface.

As I got into high school I become increasingly aware of the difference between myself and the other residents of THE mountain. I remember taking part in a school fundraiser like most kids do. I was selling these Frisbees that had a bag of un-popped popcorn kernels (before the days of microwave popcorn for the uneducated). If we sold enough of then we got some prize (and the school got the money of course). Seeing that my mother and myself were regular customers of the only grocery store on the Tennessee side of the mountain (mom didn’t drive and I was too young to drive us to Red Food store down in the valley), I was granted permission to set up my little stand in front of the store.

As I was standing there with my little display this one older lady wearing a fur coat came out of the adjacent post office and walked over to me. She looked at the display and then turned her nose up to me. She asked me about my family history. I told her we relocated here from New York in 1968. To that she replied, “Oh, you’re just from the mountain, not of the mountain.” Under my breath I said, “Yes my family tree actually has branches” in reference to my readings about the families of Lookout Mountain at the public library.

I still remember when I was in college getting into a disagreement with someone as they told me there was no way I lived on Lookout Mountain. I showed them my driver’s license with my Lookout Mountain address as they shook their head in disbelief.

As late as 1990 I have dealt with issues over my “heritage”. When I first got into the newspaper business I was a guest host for an overnight alternative rock radio show. The host interviewed me and I helped pick out songs that were played during the show. It was a lot of fun. Then the phone rang around two in the morning. The caller asked to speak with me. When I answered the caller said (in a southern voice) that he didn’t take kindly to this “Jew” being on the radio and he was going to come down and hang me from a tree. The host heard this and grabbed the phone out of my hand and yelled at the guy threatening him back. I laughed at the guy and told him to bring it on. He knew where the station was located and I would welcome him to try. Of course he didn’t show up.

The morale of my story is everyone needs to get over themselves. People will find any reason to hate you, especially if they feel inferior. The black population does not have monopoly of being victims of prejudice. Much like the good ole boys flying the Confederate battle flag they need to get over their preconceived notions of race relations. I have no dog in this fight. I’m from the north we kicked the south’s ass and could probably kick yours if push came to shove.